


Where We Are in the Dark

by HelloTroggy



Series: Within Time and Space [1]
Category: Pedro Pascal - Fandom, Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Begging, Dom!Mando, Dom/sub Play, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Getting Manhandled by Mando, Hair-pulling, If the Crest is Rocking, Impact Play, Manhandling, No use of y/n, One Shot, One Shot Episode, Porn With Plot, Praise Kink elements, Reader Insert, Spanking, SweetGirl!Reader, The Bucket is Off, pre-season 2, thigh riding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:15:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28366758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HelloTroggy/pseuds/HelloTroggy
Summary: In this private oblivion, it's only you and him. Where else would you be?
Relationships: Mando/you, The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)/Reader, The Mandalorian/Reader
Series: Within Time and Space [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2079729
Comments: 8
Kudos: 111





	Where We Are in the Dark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [erica_schall](https://archiveofourown.org/users/erica_schall/gifts).



Your breath is catching in your throat, letting out little gasps of pleasure. His mouth is so warm, so wet, on your neck. Gloved hands are groping at your breasts, massaging and kneading. Every so often, giving you a flick or pinch that sends a tidal wave of sensation along your nerves to your core. 

For a moment, you’re able to open your eyes, looking out on instinct, and there’s nothing but pitch blackness. “What is it, sweet girl?” he murmurs, seeming to sense the change in your perception while the smooth slide of leather traces patterns along your chest and ribs. “Nothing. It’s n-nothing. Please.” your voice is keening with want “Don’t stop. Please.” 

He chuckles lightly, but you can feel it in his chest as he adjusts. A gentle trail of kisses makes its way up your shoulder until his breath is warm on your neck, just under your ear. You can almost feel the smirk on as he makes his way around to your cheek “Oh? You don’t want me to stop?” You whine shamelessly as he adjusts you into his lap to rest on an armored thigh. Your aching center pressed against his shiny Beskar.

Without thinking, you begin grinding yourself against the Mandalorian steel in an effort to alleviate your need. “Now, now. You need to stop that.” His tone is playful, so you pay him no heed. In an instant you feel a steely grip on your hair, close to the scalp. Not painful so long as you don’t fight; he’s got your attention. Your eyes are wide open and unseeing in all the empty around the two of you. “I said stop.” His body is tense behind you, but his voice is so low and soothing. There is no threat, only promise.

All you can hear is your heartbeat hammering away in your eardrum. He’s got you pulled up on your knees, your back pressed to his front. You can feel him gently winding his fingers through your hair. Not to tighten his hold, but to just feel the strands slide through the leather of his gloves. A breath you didn’t know you were holding comes out soft and pleading.

His hold on your hair tenses, pulling you in closer to his chest. “Answer me.” His voice is so dark, but not angry. It’s so intense you can barely keep your wits about you. It’s not until you register the feeling of him stroking the inner curve of your hip that you snap out of the trance he’s lulled you into. When you feel his fingers dig bruises into the tender flesh to pull you in closer, you’re able to gasp out, “Yes! Sorry Mando.” He goes still, so still you can’t even feel the rise and fall of his breath, despite being crushed against him. His tone is low, almost a growl “It’s ‘yes sir’.” 

One heartbeat. Two heartbeats. Three heartbeats.

“Yes sir.”

A chill runs down your spine as his hold on you begins to shift. He’s pushing you forward so that your head is down and your ass is up. Bare and vulnerable. The way your heart is thundering at double time, you wonder if he can feel it through the leather gloves he’s still wearing. He’s still wearing gloves? And the rest of his armor, too, you recall. You feel the metallic press of him at your thighs, but nothing else for a long pause. Growing impatient, you press back against him as best you can, your tone is teasing when you ask “Are you just gonna hold me like this?” 

Lightning strikes your right ass cheek, and you cry out in shock as much as pain. Again. On your left. You’re gasping as the sensation spreads across your whole bottom. You don’t want to fight back, he’s won. “I’m sorry, sir”. You’re not above begging. You want to feel good. You want him to make you feel good. If that’s what he wants… The smallest creep of self-doubt comes into your headspace. You can’t see his face or body. If he doesn’t touch you or say something, you can’t gauge what he’s thinking or feeling in the least. 

“Sweet girl” the endearment is so loving as he leans down to mouth at the shell of your ear. You almost purr as you press yourself into his affection. “Where’d you go?” He almost sounds like he wants you to be right here. With him. You can’t help the little giggle that comes out, but your voice is a sigh when you respond “You’re funny, Mando.” You’re going to pretend you don’t know what he’s talking about, because there’s nothing to talk about. Not really. Not if he or anyone asks. Not. At. All.

Something very warm and soft is placed on the cleavage of your ass, he pulls and pushes your hips to let the length of him drag. Letting you feel it before anything else. “I asked you a question.” his voice feels so far away and you feel so light. You can only manage wordless murmuring in response. “If you want this” he thrusts, “you need to ask for it.” The sound you make is so pitiful. “Ah ah.” the Mandalorian admonishes. “Use your words.” 

“Please fuck me. Please... Sir.”

He’s so deliberate as he pulls back, and adjusts his bearing, before pressing himself against your now soaking entrance. He rubs his head in your slick, teasingly stroking up and down where you’re so needy. You can’t help the breathy whine you exhale as he continues to torment you. “Pleasepleaseplease” your voice is so thin. You almost black out when you hear him gasp out "Say it right, sweet girl.” He’s intentionally withholding! You try to press back against him, but are met with a warning smack on the hip. Not a true spank, just a reminder.

“Please Sir. Please fuck me.” 

He doesn’t do or say anything for a beat. How many times are you going to have to beg? Does he want you or not? And then… He’s pressing into you. Slowly. To draw it out, and pay you back for your impatience. You’re being filled deliciously, and your eyes roll back with bliss. You might be babbling, you’re not sure. But there is a litany of praise and gratitude flowing through your mind as he eases out and returns to your warmth over and over again. His pace is deliberate and deep, he doesn’t want to go too hard too quickly. He’s holding back, and you have enough presence to know you don’t like that.

After some time of the steady drive of his hips, you begin trusting back against him. Your eagerness spurs him on. As he moves deeper, he strikes something intense deep within you. You can help but whine or cry out every time he hits that spot in you.

In your delirium, you don't realize when he pulled your arms back behind your back. You have been outmaneuvered, and he's going to let you have it “Hold on, sweet girl…” his voice is ragged from the sounds he’s been making, and you don’t even have a second to react before he begins hammering in that Spot. That place where everything is concentrated, sensitive, and wanton. So wet, and warm, and wanting him in you. With your arms pulled back, you can’t support your upper body. You’re completely reliant on him. Submissive. It’s intoxicating. 

“Yesss, that’s it.” he hisses as something deep inside you starts pulsing and squeezing. Your throat is starting to feel raw from the moans and sighs he’s pulling from you. You’re coming undone. “Come for me, sweet girl.” he asks so gently, his touch is so warm, and you feel so raw. 

Everything is white for a moment in the darkness. 

At least for you. 

A sudden, uncomfortable emptiness, then a warm, sticky splatter across your ass and back. You can finally make out murmuring. He’s talking? “Sweet girl… so soft and warm”. In his moment of release, he’s praising you. How… Different. And nice? Maybe. He’s not making sense, and your brain can’t be bothered to pay attention. Not with all the stimulation you’re experiencing. You like the feel of him on your skin, but now you need to get cleaned up. He’s not going to want to stay.

Sweet nothings are always sweet and nothing.

You give the darkness a lazy, content smile. You’re so toasty and floaty in your afterglow. A shock runs down your spine when he presses a kiss to your shoulder, and you feel the weight of him ease down next to you on the pallet bed you’d shared. A bare hand comes around to cup your hip, gently pulling you back against him. You don’t fight it.

That’d be stupid.

He hums an appreciative note into your hair, taking in the smell of you on his inhale. You automatically mold into his side, luxuriating in the affection he’s offering so abundantly. You know him, and you know Mandalorians. They’re a reserved people; single minded in their drives and goals. It’s fascinating, you suppose, from a scholarly standpoint. From an intimate one? This felt like uncharted space to you, but you didn’t want to leave it. Not yet. Not so long as he was willing to let you stay. 

It felt good to be in the silent vastness of the space you shared with him aboard the Razor Crest. It felt right to let everything be for a moment. Because reality would resume in due time. 

You’d been shocked, honestly, when he accepted your hailing, a while ago. You and the Mandalorian had shared more than a few commissions, but every project ended smoothly. As should follow, rapport and respect has been built over time between the two of you. So, you generally found yourself interested to see if he was docked nearby and available for hire. Truth to tell, you didn't have anything especially dangerous or needing security. You just wanted him to come on. He was a reliable presence in an unreliable galaxy, and it felt good to fly with that feeling. After speaking with him, you'd be lying if you said you weren't hoping events you transpire exactly as they had.

It'd been so fun the first time, and you found yourself hoping this wouldn't be the last.

Mando mouths at the shell of your ear, trying to get your attention. You can’t help a little giggle “Hey!” you object, mock swatting at him. “Where did you go, just now? I was trying to talk to you, but you wouldn’t answer me.” he’s teasing, but he’s concerned. His facial hair tickles into your neck, giving you another giggle fit. “Sorry” you manage to gasp out and sigh “Was just thinking about stuff. And things.” He hums in his chest “And people, too?” You scoff at him and shift your shoulders in his hold. He pulls you tighter to him in response.

He holds you like that for a long pause. It’s so quiet in the hull, with only the occasional hiss, blip, or trill to decorate the air. In that stillness, you notice something pressing against your backside.

No kriffing way?

His lips are against your neck, now. As he scatters sweet kisses along your shoulder and up to your ear, you know what he’s about. You’re almost shocked. Cuddles and round two? Is this the Mando you’ve known for years? The soft sound he makes is so nice. You’re feeling spoiled by the absence of his iconic bucket head. Without the modulator and high pass filter, you can hear all the tones in his voice. It’s very… nice. Very nice. 

You give your hips a little roll, trying to get back at him for his teasing. The wanton whine he makes is everything. “You need to get out of all that armor.” you want to feel more of him. His lips. His dick. It’s all amazing and you want more. “Oh yeah?” his hands are trailing down your sides, and dancing along the hem of the dark linen tunic top you’ve yet to be liberated from. 

Your breath catches when you feel his bare fingertips on the sensitive flesh of your ribs. The sharp inhale seems to be held in the space between his fingers as they fan out and roam up to your chest. Your pulse is like a metronome as it thrums through you, almost deafening you as his thumb brushes over the hard bud of your nipple. 

You let out a whine. There’s no other word for it. He’s got his hand up your top, hard on pressed against your ass, and is playing with your tits. You’re wound up so tight with wanton need, it’s beyond shameless how much you want him to keep going. You want his hands to stay on you. You want him to keep making you feel good. “M-Mando..”

His hands continue to roam over your breast, coming back to tease the needy tip of them every so often. He’s taking his time, it would seem. As he’s pawing at your front, he’s also grinding himself against your ass. Letting you know what he’s going to give you when you’re finally desperate enough. When you’ve begged him to his satisfaction.

**Author's Note:**

> Like so many other works in this fandom, this was inspired by Rough Day by guardianangelcas. Additionally, I wanted to write something for the amazing erica_schall who is deserving of all the praise ever. Thank you for your time!


End file.
